


A Series of Unfortunate Drabbles

by sunset_oasis



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 05:44:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14182134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunset_oasis/pseuds/sunset_oasis
Summary: A collection of ASOUE drabbles, each chapter featuring a oneshot independent of the others, crossposted from tumblr.





	1. i bet you look good on the dancefloor (Fiona x Carmelita)

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: I don't own ASOUE

She quietly sipped her cocktail as she observed the dancer performing at the platform of the bar. Lights of different color splashed onto the dancer, a bit too dazzling for a moment.  She bit her straw thoughtfully, as the familiarity of the dancer’s face feature started setting in, and memories came flooding back. 

It had been years since she’d last seen the other woman.  In fact, the last time, they had both been girls rather than women.  Though, the last time, she remembered some dancing on the other girl’s parts, too.  She’d never been too interested in choreography herself, and had thought the other girl’s dance was pretty unimpressive at that time, but now as she glanced at the dancing woman, even a non-dance-enthusiast like her marveled at those dance skills.

The fluidity of movements was breathtaking, really.

She wondered if the other woman would recognize her now.  It’d been quite a while, and the dancer, when she’d been younger, had always had the vibe of arrogance. It was probably highly likely that she wouldn’t be remembered by such a self-centered person.

She sighed, and stirred the cocktail for a bit.  She really should stop judging people based on their past, since the arrogant young girl she remembered probably wouldn’t be working as a dancer in the night club.  She probably wouldn’t be working at all.  Therefore, it must be some kind of evidence that the dancer was no longer her past self, right?

She finished her drink, and quietly left the bar.

 

* * *

 

She wasn’t quite sure what prompted her to visit the bar  _again_.  After all, she’d told herself she didn’t want to risk being recognized.  And yet, here she was again, back for another night, her eyes glued to the dancer woman on stage.

There was something alluring, something pulling about the dance that she just couldn’t seem to make herself stay away.

The song ended, and the dancer walked off the stage towards her.  She blinked, startled for a moment.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?“ The dancer said in lieu of a greeting.

“Your dancing skills have improved a lot,” was the first reply that came to her mind. “Tonight is great.”

The dancer laughed.  She wondered if her laugh had always sounded quite nice.  It certainly  _hadn’t_ , in her past memories.

“I know,” the dancer preened, and suddenly seemed more like her younger self. “I think I performed pretty well too.  How about last night?”

She dropped her fork onto the table, and the dancer laughed again. “What, you think I didn’t realize you were here?”  Then, in a more wistful tone, “I think after all that had happened, it’s become a instinct to recognize people from – from the past.  Every time they popped up, it serves as some reminder to a crazier time, a time that was fun in its own way, but also … all sorts of wrong.”

She realized that the other woman had certainly changed a lot.  “Tragic and scarring?” she offered.

The dancer paused for a moment. “I wouldn’t say I was  _scarred_ , but everybody’s childhood makes them what they are.”

 _And look what a childhood entangled with VFD made them all_ , she thought.

“Let me buy you a drink?” she heard herself ask before the line even went through her brain.

“Sure,” the dancer smiled.  It was really a nice smile. “Maybe I’ll offer a dance in private in return as thanks.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr post](https://penultimatesugarbowl.tumblr.com/post/166661918196/i-bet-you-look-good-on-the-dancefloor-pairing)


	2. Fernald x Ernest Denouement; a story told in 4 short parts

**_I_ **

He shut his eyes tightly, partly because of the pain around his wrists, partly because of the bright light in the medical office of the hotel.  It would over soon, he told himself, the surgery would soon be done, and he could –

"Okay, we’re done now.  Try moving a bit to see if the hooks works."

Yeah, his surgery was over.  So was a life with normal hands, and probably a life with helping his stepfather and all the hypocrites who claimed to be on the “noble side” of the schism.

Memories of Ike Anwhistle’s death flashed past him, and Fernald forced himself to open his eyes to distract himself from those horrible memories. "So, you’re a hotel manager as well as a surgeon?" he asked, voice slightly hoarse.

"Just multi-talented, I guess," his 'surgeon' replied dryly.

"Rumor says that you guys patch everyone up when they’re sent here.  No matter of the sides.  Which side is Hotel Denouement  _really_ on?"

The man gathered his tools as he stood up, an ambiguous smile on his face, "That’s the wrong question."

 

* * *

 

**_II._ **

"How are the hooks?"

"Functional.  How’s the hotel?"

The hotel manager’s lips curved up in amusement, "Functioning. As usual."

A long pause.

"Do you ever get bored?"

"Well," the hotel manager considered slowly, "there are as many fights and battles in a neutral hotel as the outside world, sometimes they’re just unseen."

A longer pause.

"This was never a story about sides for you, though, was it?"

"What do suggest then?" an arched eyebrow, a neutral tone.

"Survival," Fernald replied, his eyes staring straight into the other man’s.

 

* * *

 

**_III._ **

"Have you ever thought about, with the lives we lead, every time we meet could possibly be the last time?"

"Drink your coffee,“ Ernest replied, not bothering looking up from the bookkeeping he was busying himself with. "Sentimentality doesn’t suit you."

"I’m just pointing out a logical truth," Fernald retorted.

"Well, I’ll always be around in this hotel, safely tucked away in a neutral ground. You’re the one who’s always out risking his life.  If it’s the last time we met, it’s certain your doing more than mine."

 

* * *

 

**_IV._ **

Somehow, much to the surprise of himself, Fernald survived the Great Unknown.

Only to find himself travelling back to the city, staring the burnt ashes of what had once been the Hotel Denouement.

"Safely tucked away in a neutral ground, is it?" he murmured to no reply.

Not that he really expected one.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr post](https://penultimatesugarbowl.tumblr.com/post/170071580541/fernald-x-ernest-denouement-a-story-told-in-4)


	3. how do you get the handsomest dates? (Georgina x Jacquelyn)

“Remember how you asked me last week, how do I manage to get the handsomest dates?” the optometrist almost purred, cupping Jacquelyn’s chin with the tip of her fingers. “That’s the wrong question.”

“What is the right one, then?” Jacquelyn replied, raising an eyebrow.  At the close distance, she could see every inch of Georgina’s face clearly, and she’d have thought seeing something too close took away the beauty but no, it didn’t seem so in this case.

But then again, Georgina Orwell’s an optometrist. She probably knew scientifically the best distance to look perfect and it certainly wasn’t Jacquelyn’s fault for not defying the logic of nature, or something. That’s what she told herself, anyway.

“The correct question is, how do  _you_  manage to get the most handsome date, for Beatrice birthday party tonight?”

Jacquelyn narrowed her eyes, “I don’t recall that I acquired a date for this, handsome or not.”

“That is the wrong answer,” Georgina informed her, loftily, her hands sliding down from her cheeks to the bottom of her neck. “Try again.”

Jacquelyn’s mind went blank for a moment as Georgina stroked her clavicle softly, before zoning back into reality. Then she swallowed, before saying, “Will you be my date tonight?”

A smug smirk emerged from Georgina’s face, as she said. “Exactly.   _That’s_  how.” She paused a second before adding, “and yes.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr post](https://penultimatesugarbowl.tumblr.com/post/172477496111/how-do-you-get-the-handsomest-dates-a-super-short)


	4. remarkably flammable (Beatrice + Olaf, non-romantic)

The small town their mission took them was a boring one, and Beatrice missed The City. She missed the variety of restaurants, the variety of fashion stores, and the variety of theaters.

And one aspiring theater critic who enjoyed defining words in every day conversation.  Beatrice wondered what he was doing now.

Suddenly, she heard someone knocked – or by the sound of it, kicked – the hotel room door. There was really only one person possible to knock on – or kick on – her room door at this time, so Beatrice took her time to stand up slowly and elegantly, and glided towards the door while imagining she was a bat.

Her partner for the mission stood at the door, one hand hiding behind his back as he drawled, “Want you see a magic trick?”

Beatrice huffed, about to say no, but Olaf didn’t give her a chance to. He continued, “Of course you do. Well, here it is ….” He paused dramatically, then slowly bring the hand hidden behind his back to the front, “… you’re welcome.”

Beatrice’s eyebrows shot up in delight at the root beer float in front of her, “Wow, how did you get this?”

“I saw a beverage place in town when I was following my target, and I went in there and dazzled my charms.  I mean, if you keep missing Snicket all the time your productivity drops and that’s more work on me.  Can’t have that.  That’s why I generously, kind-heartedly, brought you the root beer float.”

Beatrice took the root beer float and smirked knowingly, “And you want one of my tea bags.”

“Just a minor side benefit,” Olaf pointed a finger at her, “but yes.”

She rolled her eyes and let him into the room, setting down the root beer float by the table and starting to boil a pot of water, then went over to fetch the tea bags she stole from a store in the last town they were in.  

“Tea, hot and bitter, just for you,” she announced grandly, “you’re very welcome.”

“Snicket, hot one for me,” he pulled his right hand close to his chest, “bitter one for you,” he extended the arm out again, his wrist doing a little twirl, “you’re welcome too.”

 

* * *

 

The root beer float was soothing, and Beatrice savored it slowly, each sip reminding her of some witty joke L once made. Drinking with Olaf was obviously not the same as drinking with L, but good root beer float is good root beer float, a delightful cure for the aching desire mixed with longing.

“You sure do love root beer float, don’t you?” Olaf asked, his tone amused.

“It’s a remarkable drink,” Beatrice replied, pretending to be haughty.

“Yeah, but is it flammable like real alcohol?” he challenged, as if it was some important criteria for drinks.

She leant forwards slightly, propping her arm on top of the table and setting her chin on top of it as she pondered.  A few moments later, she turned to him solemnly, “Only one way to find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr post](https://penultimatesugarbowl.tumblr.com/post/178100440876/remarkably-flammable)


	5. Olaf, Bertrand, Poison Darts

Before Olaf ever officially met Bertrand, he had heard stories about him.  Bertrand’s chaperone thought he was an amazing, model apprentice. But that chaperone also ranked last out of all 52 VFD chaperones. Who coincidentally was also Olaf’s nemesis  _Snicket_ ’s chaperone, and that was where things got interesting.

Someone who Lemony Snicket was unfavorably compared to? Olaf hadn’t even met this guy, but he decided that he’s going to like him.

 

* * *

 

When they finally met for the first time, Olaf discovered that Bertrand was quite unlike the usual VFD theater teens he encountered. Bertrand wasn’t much a literature guy, nor was he invested in poetry or theater. He didn’t quote classics in everyday life (not even wrongly or sarcastically or anything) like the rest of them.  (Perhaps that was how he got assigned to lowest ranking chaperone, Olaf thought.)

Despite his differences with the theater teens of VFD, they all turned out to like Bertrand a lot.  He was pleasant and easygoing and because of his interests were different from them, they didn’t feel the need to compete with him.  But the best thing was, he was great at building sets and props – everything the theater people needed on stage – and every fancy, overly dramatic equipment they probably didn’t need off-stage but he was nice enough to make for them anyway.  (One day, the working wings of a dragonfly costume might turn out surprisingly useful for an actress, but that was another story.)

And Olaf liked him too, just like all of them. Bertrand was the only person who wouldn’t tear his Al Funcoot plays apart, and as much as it was fun bickering with Beatrice or R about the literary references in his plays, it was great to have someone who he could spend time with that didn’t care about all those and would be glad to help make the props for the play.  (Although he did have to fight the other theater majors for his time – as if Beatrice’s bat-styled hot air balloon or Esme’s martini glass dress was more important than his demands.)

 

* * *

 

And perhaps that was why Bertrand’s part in his parents’ murder came as the most surprising of them all.  After being friends – if he could call them that – with Beatrice for so many years since their childhood, he’d known, grudgingly that she was capable of a lot of things. Mostly in the name of drama, but sometimes for things more sinister too. He’d seen her darker sides that sometimes he wondered if Snicket realized. And Kit – she followed VFD’s orders in a way nobody else could, she planned coldblooded schemes in the name of necessary evil better than anyone else. (It probably said something about their relationship that he wasn’t that surprised when his girlfriend played a part in his parents’ murder.)  But Olaf never expected it from Bertrand.

Bertrand, who got along with everyone, who was always helpful, who didn’t argue much but not in a Jerome kind of way.

He’d long known ago he shouldn’t trust actors, but perhaps the biggest lesson was to not trust the polite and practical engineers either.

In retrospect, maybe he should have known. After all, Bertrand was the one with the craftiest hands out of them all. And if he could make theater props for them, who knew what else he was able to make?

A handy little device for aiming poison darts, as it turned out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr post](https://penultimatesugarbowl.tumblr.com/post/179138827071/olaf-bertrand-poison-darts)


	6. one of those nights you really shouldn’t have climbed out of bed (beatrice & olaf)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (cw: an appearance of leg cuffs)

While sneaking around the headquarters at night, they heard footsteps approaching from the other end of the corridor.  Beatrice and Olaf glanced at each other, and she darted at the first hideout she saw.

A manhole on the ground.

A little curious to have a manhole inside a building, but not the weirdest thing she’d ever seen. She opened its cover, and they both jumped inside.

It wasn’t a very far land, which was slightly disappointing to Beatrice, and she quickly realized another problem as the light from the corridor shone into the manhole and they had no way to put the cover back on.

“In hindsight –”

“Race you,” he interrupted, nodding slightly to the right, “to the end of the tunnel.”  He started running immediately after, but she caught up rather easily and soon got in front of him.

There was a storage room on their left when they reached the end of the tunnel, and ladder that seemed to lead to an exit above on the right. The logical thing might be to climb that ladder and just leave, which Beatrice suppose they would eventually choose anyway, but since they’re already here might as well looked into what’s in the room.

Turned out, a lot of things.

She pocketed three different models of vintage spyglasses and grabbed a book about bats then put on a necklace she found that, according to the description on the box she found, contained different poison in each of the bead.

“Hey, B,” he called, and she turned around to see him wearing a fur coat with at least thirteen pockets, and holding a fancy looking harpoon gun. She wondered briefly if all the decorations on it would affect its speed, and made a note to ask Bertrand about this physics question later.

“Look at this,“ he said. She noticed now that he sounded slightly uncomfortable, it was barely noticeable, but she knew him too well to not hear it.  The thing he was pointing to was a box full of leg cuffs. It wasn’t just plain leg cuffs, though, but leg cuffs with the VFD insignia on them.

She made a face. “When they said they put their insignia on everything, they really meant everything, huh?”

He grimaced. “Yeah. And if think about it, it kind of symbolized some ‘make the prisoner one of us’ kind of thing, doesn’t it?”

It was creepy, she felt. But then she thought of something else, and there was a sinking feeling deep inside her, “At least with the people only cuffed by these, they escape when they got out of the cuffs, you know?”

“Let’s get out of here,“ he said, after an uncomfortable silence.

And then they did, but only in the literal sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr post](https://penultimatesugarbowl.tumblr.com/post/181263424861/)


	7. beatrice & bertrand visit prufrock

At first Bertrand thought they were a little too old for shenanigans like this, and he almost said it, but decided not to at the last minute.  Perhaps it would be good. Violet and Klaus were at school now, and this should really just be an one-afternoon thing. It’d been a while since Beatrice let herself take some time off.

So he’d agreed.

Which was how they ended up inside the library of Prufrock, trying to find and perhaps steal away a book they’d read here as a teen and couldn’t find anywhere else. The place seemed almost permanently closed now, which was sad considering how many books it contained.

“In every library, there is a single book that can answer that burns like a fire in the mind,” he said softly, and they smiled each other. It suddenly felt like the older days, for a moment.

But nostalgia was always dangerously misleading, and they both knew there was a reason they had left the older days behind.

They found the book after nearly 40 minutes’ search.  The system here wasn’t very organized, probably due to lack of maintaining. The sneaked out of the school quietly after.

On their way out, they saw, in a distance, a little girl with cheerleader outfit commanding other students loudly. The vice principal with lackluster violin skills was demanding the other students to be more like the cheerleader girl.

On their way back home, Beatrice said, “She reminds me of when I was younger, you know?”  And Bertrand thought, yeah, he kind of get it.  Beatrice continued, “I wanted the attention. And I had to get it from the fellow apprentices because they’re the people I spend the most time with.”  She paused a bit. “I think a lot of us were like that, to be fair.  Though you weren’t. You’re always so different and so much quieter, never wanting the attention.”

He wanted to tell her that it wasn’t necessary true, at least not always. He wanted to say that he grew up as an orphan and his adopted family never really paid him much attention and that was why he was so desperately to please when he first started his apprenticeship.  He hadn’t know how to fight for attention like the rest of the vfd theater kids because he felt awkward and shy in a crowd of teens at the similar ages – but when an adult solely focused on him, well, he could work with that.  He’d wanted his chaperone to think that he was helpful and smart, and he had spent time trying to figure out how best to work with her on cases. He’d gotten so delighted at every little praise because before his chaperone, nobody had ever done that.

It would have been so easy to win his preteen self over, he thought. He grew out of that, eventually, or at least he thought so himself anyway.  She made him a more confident version of himself that Beatrice got to know, and he was still grateful for her for that. It would’ve been so easy to manipulated him back then, he realized, and he was glad she hadn’t. Well, he thought she hadn’t, anyway. He was aware sometimes it wasn’t easy to be objective in experiences concerning oneself.

He didn’t tell Beatrice any of these that day. He thought, perhaps he would, some day in the future. And if they decided to have another kid and it’s a girl, he would want to name the baby girl after his previous chaperone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr post](https://penultimatesugarbowl.tumblr.com/post/181316756496/)


	8. the end (beatrice/kit + beatrice & olaf)

“Let it flood. I can’t do it, Baudelaires. I’ve lost too many people – my parents, my true love, and my brothers.”

Kit thought about her parents and her brothers and the disorienting memories of childhood which when she shared her stories with her brothers, somehow they gave her a confused look. She wondered which of them was wrong.  She thought about Jacques in that faraway village and how he probably had been polishing the cab just the day before.  She thought about Lemony and the funeral and the obituary and then, inevitably, the woman he loved.

The woman _she_  loved.

Kit thought about her true love and how she never told anyone about her. (Perhaps Bertrand suspected something, from the knowing looks he gave her sometimes. But she knew he would keep it to himself.)  Those laughter of hers rang through Kit’s mind like it was just yesterday they were hiking up Mortmain Mountains and Beatrice’s face light up in excitement and her voice went a pitch higher when they saw the eagles and lions and bats. She remembered the night at the opera as clearly as it had just happened, too, the way she handed those poison darts to Beatrice and the unspoken anxiousness overwhelming all of them and the way Beatrice squeezed her hand so firmly as she took the poison darts.  If Kit clenched her fist hard enough, perhaps she could even feel it right now too.

She couldn’t find the strength in her to clench her fist hard enough.

 

* * *

 

“I’ve lost too much to go on – my parents, my true love, my henchfolk, an enormous amount of money I didn’t earn, even the boat with my name on it.”

Even as the words true love left his mouth, Olaf knew he never really loved anyone but himself. Fernald was easily manipulated by a little attention once in a while and Georgina was a thrilling adventure not without her uses, despite things at the mill ultimately not playing out as he wanted.   Esme was a mutually beneficial arrangement which had been fun while it lasted.  Annoying and more troublesome than what she was worth too, but those weren’t mutually exclusive with fun. Of course, Esme was also some weird competitiveness within him that he felt he needed to satisfy, the “Beatrice had great chemistry with a great actress and powerful financial advisor so I must prove I have it too”. And then there was Kit, the one person he knew Beatrice secretly attracted to, the one person he took great pleasure in dating just by simply looking at the complicated, jealous expression on Beatrice’s face.

Somehow, in the end, it was still almost always about her, his oldest friend and oldest enemy.

Because the thing was, it wasn’t so much about “his friends, his true love, his henchfolk, the enormous amount of money he didn’t earn, even the boat with his name on it” but rather “his parents _she_  murdered, his dating history that he made more than half of his decisions on whether it would drive _her_  mad, the enormous fortune  _she_  left her children, and even the boat which had  _her_ name on it way before than he could ever stake his claim.”

It was funny, he thought, how his, at least two thirds of the Snickets’, her husband’s, and Esme’s lives all revolved around her until their very end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr post](https://penultimatesugarbowl.tumblr.com/post/181480160371/the-end-rewrite-with-a-different-interpretation)


	9. i’m breathless but we’re not even underwater yet (kit/beatrice)

Kit was talking about the parts of the submarine she built today. Excitedly explaining some clever way they designed the engines and the benefits of this design.  It’s fascinating, Beatrice thought. She didn’t understand fully and she realized her face probably showed it, because Kit elaborated with a similar example she knew Beatrice would have experience with.  A part of her was now regretting not having gone into the same very specific field with Kit because had she done that, they could be having even deeper level conversations about submarine engineering and Kit would sure love that, workaholic that she was.

Still that was just a small part of her, mostly she knew her passion was in acting and poetry and opera and even if given another chance, she would make the same choice to go into these fields again.

Kit grabbed at yogurt from the fridge, continuing her detailed explanation.  She peeled off the seal on top of the yogurt and licked some yogurt off it briefly, and Beatrice’s mind went blank for a moment, and then felt incredibly flustered. Felt. Internally. Definitely didn’t mean she showed it, of course. Well – she hoped.  

“You get what I mean?” Kit asked.  Okay, this was a great chance. She could pretend she looked … however she looked right now, probably awestruck, because she didn’t understand all the science behind it and was … uh … fascinated and slightly confused.  Great plan.  Very solid plan, in fact.  There was yogurt on Kit’s lower lip. A white line across those soft, pink lips.  _What the actual –_

“No, can you explain it more?” Beatrice said hurriedly, cutting across her own thoughts.  She was an actress, she could keep up her act. This was a simple task. Don’t let Kit know how you were replaying the image of her licking yogurt off the seal in your head. Simple. Straightforward.  Too easy a mission for a talented actress like Beatrice.  She could do this.

Kit happily explained more, seemingly delighted at Beatrice was interested.  Perhaps she didn’t expect Beatrice to be interested in this since she didn’t choose to be an engineer? Beatrice mused. Well. Beatrice certainly considered herself to be interested in engineering, just like she was interested in many things. It was just her  _passion_  was in opera, that was all. This interest wasn’t any preferential treatment to Kit. She listened to Bertrand explain how he made those wings to actually fly two weeks ago!  She listened to Monty about his snakes!  Science and engineering were fun to her. Nothing to do with Kit.

Like, perhaps listening to Kit did make it even more fun, but that wasn’t the point.

It _wasn’t_.

 _She’s so smart,_  Beatrice thought as Kit explained how she fixed the problem today after some experimenting. Great deduction skills. Beatrice’s favorite kind. It was like detectives in mystery novels solving a case.  Beatrice loved mystery. 

“You want to come see the things we’ve currently built tomorrow?” Kit asked, and Beatrice blinked.

“Yeah. Definitely.” She said, a little breathlessly.  Kit was affecting her speaking abilities, but Beatrice couldn’t let her discover that. It would be disastrous. Beatrice tried to think up something in character for her to say. “I’ll wear my fanciest swimsuit.”

Kit rolled her eyes. “It’s not even going underwater yet, Beatrice.”

Success. Mission saved. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr post](https://penultimatesugarbowl.tumblr.com/post/181670706166/)


End file.
